Page 11 of The Tyranny of our Longing

“It is very beautiful,” she offered.

A long breath escaped him, then Phaedra felt his eyes turn to her. They traced the lines of her profile, searching for things she could not fathom.

“Indeed,” he said finally.

There was something in the cadence of the word, the way his tone shifted from the one mere moments ago, that made her muscles stiffen. She dropped her hand to the handle.

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s locked,” Nathaniel said.

Phaedra blinked. “Locked?” She turned to him, brows knitting. “Why?”

He offered a rueful smile. “Because I suspected you would wish to go in again.”

Phaedra’s confusion only deepened. Was she simply imagining it or had his words not made any sense? Unless he thought…

The smile fell from his face as he beheld her expression, a pale rose tint flushing his cheeks as he too had finally understood what his words had insinuated.

“Please forgive me,” he said, his expression earnest in his mortification. “That is not at all what I meant to imply.”

Phaedra nodded, uncertain. “Then what is it you did mean?”

“I…” He stepped back, his fingers laced behind him, his teeth raking over his lower lip. The movement caught her eye, and she watched this perfect display of distress take reign over his handsome features. Something purred in the back of her mind, like some languid beast awakening to a most delectable feast.

“I do realize,” he began again, “that you are still very much in the dark regarding the details of the assignment. It is not intentional, or at least not entirely, and I apologize for the discomfort that may cause. But believe me, it is not because—” He paused, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh. “All of this is still very new for me, and I feel… wary? The things we will discuss—the scenes you will paint—will be of a highly personal nature, and I find myself… reluctant to divulge anything concrete until I see you sitting before your easel.”

She nodded, his words sobering in their candor.

“But I do understand that you would require more,” he continued. “It is only fair. So allow me to start by saying that the paintings you will create will be of my family.”

“Your family?” she asked, her brows pulling together. She could not determine precisely what had made his statement so unexpected, and she could not deny the spark of curiosity igniting with its strangeness.

He nodded. “As you may remember, there are quite a few paintings of them in there.” He motioned to the door.

“Yes, but…” she started, his words losing sense once more. “Wouldn’t that be of help to me?”

“Yes,” he said. “And no.”

Phaedra opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I promise, I am not mad,” Nathaniel said, a small smile moving over his face. “However my words may seem. It is only that— It is somewhat difficult to explain.”

“Try,” she said. But before she could even start to blanch at the unexpected authority of her tone, his smile widened.

“Come with me.”

He started back down the hall, Phaedra falling into step beside him. His stride was leisurely, unhurried, and she had to concentrate to keep hers in tandem, her mind already awhirl with a myriad of thoughts and possibilities.

“The paintings in the drawing room,” he began as they turned into the grand foyer, “as you yourself have seen, depict various scenes of my family. They are all lifelike and, I can only assume, accurate. And the descriptions I wish to read to you, they are of them as well.”

They rounded the grand staircase, and turned into another hallway leading to the back of the manor.

“The account is a personal one, and I would like you to get to know my family through that lens. For your work to depict them as they are described there, and not how you would think they should appear based on the work of others.”

Phaedra nodded. It was not an entirely absurd idea, however strange it sounded. But…

“But I have already seen the paintings,” she said.

They entered a large antechamber, their steps clicking over checkered marble.